Living elves meant only one thing to the Vraad. Slaves and toys. It burned deep within Dru that his initial reaction had almost been as terrible as that of the rest; he had thought of what it would be like to study one, to take it apart and see how it differed from his own kind.
Sharissa would have abandoned him there and then had she only known.
He realized that Gerrod was staring at him, the younger Vraad’s eyes glistening.
“I want it to fail.”
At first, Dru was uncertain that he had heard the other correctly. When Gerrod’s expression did not change, however, he knew that the sons of the dragon were indeed all insane. In the end, Dru could only ask a simple “Why?”
The hooded Vraad looked at him helplessly. He seemed unconcerned that anyone might hear his traitorous words—traitorous to both his clan and the Vraad race as a whole.
“I don’t know! I feel it sometimes, as if my head were about to split in two! That something very wrong awaits us, something that means death… and more… to the Vraad, all Vraad!”
Suddenly Gerrod stared up at the ceiling. His mouth drew shut, a tight, thin line across his countenance. His head snapped down a second later. The eyes that met Dru’s were full of both relief and despair.
“Rendel’s made it. I can feel him. His ka now definitely inhabits the realm beyond. Our success”—Gerrod hesitated, visibly tasting the words and disliking their content—“is a certainty now!”
For the second time in only a matter of minutes, Dru could not hold back the shiver that coursed through him.
THOUGH IT HAD no mouth, it screamed.
Though it had no eyes, it turned its head toward the dark, raging heavens, as if seeking some power to end its agony.
Its visage was blank. No mark, no hair, graced its head. There were no ears, though it seemed to listen. Naked, it stumbled to its feet, which had no toes, and grasped the tree it had fallen against with hands that were little more than stubs. It was a sexless being, devoid of any distinguishing feature over the expanse of its entire body. It could feel the elements warring around it, but could do little else.
It was a golem, the first to be grown and the first to be claimed by the Vraad.
A flock of wyverns, half as tall as the helpless creature staggering below but capable of tearing asunder predators thrice their size, huddled fearfully in the few trees dotting this area of the storm-drenched field. It was not the wind and the lightning that sent shivers through their reptilian forms. What they feared was the being feeling its way around the trunk of the tree on which many of them perched. It was not exactly the scent that stirred their anxiety, but a presence of power so foreign to their limited existences that it frightened them into immobility.
The faceless monstrosity guided a foot over the upturned root it had previously tripped over. As it did, bulbous growths sprouted from the end, twisting and shaping themselves into individual toes. The other foot was also whole now, though the change went unnoticed by the creature itself. It could only feel its pain.
The storm had swept across a clear evening sky mere moments before, but it was already at its height. As it vented itself, the thing paused, seeming to consider something.
It suddenly pulled back its fist and, for no apparent reason, harshly struck the trunk of the tree. The wyverns squawked in panic; the blow nearly cracked the trunk in half. Sorcery crackled in the air around the blind wanderer. As it pulled the hand back for a second try, blood dripping to the already-soaked earth, stubs emerged from the front, mad little points that stretched and wriggled, creating fingers and forming a true hand in the space of a single breath. The blow stopped in midflight, the hand’s owner only now becoming aware of what was happening. If its empty visage could have indicated anything now, it would have been pleasure—the pleasure of a dead man who had been given a reprieve.
It wiggled the fingers on both hands, seeming to admire the movement that it could not see. The storm was a thing forgotten. The creature put a hand to each side of its head, feeling for and finally locating the budding ears. Like a child, it became aware of yet other alterations in its form. Pale white hair sprouted with astonishing alacrity, lightly covering the body and richly overwhelming the top, back, and sides of the head. He was male, too, a fact that he had known always but could not have proven before this instant. The body itself grew until it was well over six feet in height and swelled as the rib cage expanded and muscles stretched into being.
As the torso transformed, so, too, did the blank countenance. A tiny protuberance rose near the center. Below it, a slit formed, first little more than a tear in the skin, but soon a gap that spread across the emerging visage. Above, two tiny folds twitched, the beginnings of eyes.
Through the thin-lipped mouth and the arrogantly curved nose, he breathed deeply, for the first time, the air of this land. A smile, with just a touch of self-congratulation imbued in it, curled into life. Teeth gleamed white.
The eyes opened, glittery, multihued orbs that saw everything and forgot nothing. For a time, they studied the eye of the storm, a black abyss that was no cloud but the remaining effect of his passage to this new world. Even as he watched, it began to recede, giving way to the heavens once more. He sighed in relief, pleased now where he had been in agony moments before.
Fully whole, Rendel gazed down at himself, assuring that all was in order. The smile broadened.
The chill wind, a last remnant of the storm he had helped cause, reminded him of his lack of protection. The smile died, replaced by a look of petulance with just a hint of confusion added. He gestured angrily at his form.
A dark suit of the finest scale, scale from the greater cousin to the hapless beasts above, wrapped him from neck to toe. A green cloak and hip-high boots completed the image of some majestic but frightful forest king. Rendel left the hood of the cloak back, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face. He laughed, his triumph, which he had begun to doubt more than once since his arrival, completely erasing the earlier pain and fear. That, of all things, pleased him most. To one who had suffered little in the areas of pain and fear before this day, such emotions were doubly strong.
The wind was dying down now. Rendel turned his gaze toward a distant chain of mountains. Among them, he spied a giant among giants, a peak that seemed to summon him.
Turning briefly to the field and the spot on which the golem had lain, the mage executed a low and somewhat sardonic bow. That done, he straightened and, without hesitation, walked off in the direction of the mountains. An arrogant smile dominated his features.
The wyverns watched him depart, now bunched together so tightly that they threatened the stability of their perches. Beyond them and hidden by the tall grass, something else watched the receding figure of the Vraad with deadly interest.
III
WITH RENDEL’S APPARENT success, Gerrod chose to speak no more concerning his conflicting desires. Dru knew better than to press him. There was enough to ponder and enough to worry about, and joining the other Vraad in the coming was proving a two-pronged decision. What Dru had learned so far only emphasized the need to continue his secret work, which even the Lord Tezerenee, with his multitude of prying eyes, had no knowledge of—he hoped. On the other hand, what Dru had learned also made that work seem superfluous, for what support would he get once Barakas announced to the others that he held the solution to their growing predicament?
Dru left the chamber by himself, Gerrod preferring to monitor the health of his brother’s body rather than join in their father’s encroaching triumph. The news would reach Barakas nonetheless; Gerrod evidently did not want to have to be the bearer, not after what he had confided earlier.
Walking was not a necessity in a city designed to supply its users with all comforts. Dru could have commanded the citadel to carry him along until he arrived at his destination or he could have teleported, but the tall Vraad cared for neither choice. A long, mind-calming trek through the myriad corridors and staircases of the structure
was what he needed… that and his daughter.
He had wandered in a gradual upward direction, slowly making his way to where Barakas and the others were gathering, when a slim figure materialized around the corner of the stairway. There was no going around her and it was too late to turn back.
“Dru, sweet thing, I was wondering where you were!”
She had her arms around him and kissed him soundly before he could peel her clinging claws away. The struggle was made all the more difficult by the fact that part of him did not want to break away.
“Melenea… I didn’t see you earlier.”
“Didn’t see or don’t want to, sweet thing? Am I so bland and undesirable?”
In a world where beauty was commonplace, there was nothing common about the scarlet-and ebony-tressed sorceress. Enchantress was a word whose definition included Melenea. Her oval face was the color of pearl. Her lips, round and sensual—and soft, Dru recalled almost with shame—complemented her partly upturned nose and the narrow, tear-shaped eyes. Her brows were arched high, which tended to give her a calculating and commanding look. She had chosen to emphasize her cheekbones further than in the past and the effect was such that the memories it brought to life made Dru regret his not having departed instantly upon first sighting her. Her hair was short and tightly wrapped about her head, almost like a helm. Wisps of hair darted across her cheeks from each side, complementing her bone structure.
Where many of the female Vraad openly displayed their continually changing attributes, Melenea had, in contrast to the last time they had met, worn a form-fitting, glittering dress of deep green. The dress, by virtue of its clinging, displayed her full shape to far greater success than her counterparts. One reason Dru suspected he had not seen her earlier—and he had been watching just so he could have avoided this moment—was that she had likely been surrounded by admirers of both sexes vying for her favors.
Once, Dru had been one of the more ardent.
Melenea laughed lightly, pure music, and Dru’s pulse quickened. He realized he had been staring.
“Sweet thing.” She put a hand on his cheek and caressed it. Dru wanted to but did not move. “You’re so much more fun than the rest.” Her eyes twinkled, a trick she had mastered as no other had. The smile grew knowing. “You play the games with more feeling, more defiance.”
That snapped the spell. He reached up and grabbed her tiny, firm hand, but not before she left bloody memories of her long, sharp nails in his cheek. With a careless twitch, he healed the wounds.
“I don’t play your games. Not anymore.”
The laugh, the smile, they both taunted and tempted him. He knew his face had grown crimson long ago, but that was one thing beyond his abilities to prevent.
“You will, dear sweet Dru. You’ll come to me because I am the only way you can pass the centuries without thinking too deeply.” She artfully turned his grip on her hand into an opportunity to let her lips brush against his knuckles. Dru released her hand instantly, pulling his own to his side.
She took a step toward him and watched with visible amusement as he forced himself to stand his ground. “How is darling Sharissa? It’s been so long since I saw her. She must be a beautiful and desirable woman by now… and so new.”
“Sharissa is well… and no longer any concern of yours.” He would not give her this victory! He would not flee from her!
“She will always be my concern, if only because she’s your concern.” Melenea waved off the subject as if it no longer entertained her. “Barakas is making his silly speech and simply destroying the mood of the coming. A shame what he did to Dekkar and Silesti, isn’t it? I understand neither of them will be coming back.”
Dru gritted his teeth. There was no way to avoid some loss of face; he had to get away from her now!
“If Barakas is speaking, I should be up there. I trust you will be able to do without my company, Melenea”—he executed a mock bow—“as I have been more than able to do without yours.”
Now it was her visage that shone scarlet, the smile faltering just a little and the eyes narrowing. Some of Dru’s confidence returned. He started to walk past her, indicating to Melenea, he hoped, that her presence bothered him so little that he felt no need to instantly teleport far away.
Her voice snared him as he continued up the steps. “Lady Tezerenee is here, Dru sweet. I think she, too, would like to give her love to Sharissa. She seems to have been looking for both of you, in fact.”
He stood on the steps, his face carefully kept from her sight… a futile gesture since his sudden immobility spoke volumes concerning the success of her barb. It was the one thing Dru had not expected because it was the one thing he thought Melenea could not understand.
With her low, knowing laughter cutting through his heart, Dru curled within himself and vanished from the stairway.
His new destination was far from the balcony on which Barakas Tezerenee, his eldest son Reegan, and a host of other Tezerenee stood, overlooking the expectant throngs. The patriarch was already into the thrust of his speech and his presence could be felt even from where Dru stood. Yet another shiver coursed through the tall sorcerer, but this time he could not say as to which reason was the cause.
“Masterrrr?”
Sirvak! In all that had happened, Dru had completely forgotten the familiar, despite it being perched on his shoulder and wrapped around the back of his neck. Despite its seemingly awkward size, the familiar could make itself virtually unnoticeable, an ability that Dru himself had personally added during Sirvak’s creation.
“What is it, friend?”
The familiar gently licked its master’s cheek with its long, narrow tongue. Being a part of Dru, it sometimes understood him better than he himself did. “Meleneaaaa.”
“She caught me unawares, nothing more.”
“Frightens, masterrrrr. Lady frightensss.”
“She’s disturbing, Sirvak, but hardly frightening.” The creature’s fears, however, transmitted themselves to him. He knew Melenea’s tastes—all too well—and knew her propensity for games that tended to leave others damaged or, at the very least, in disarray.
Dru shook his head. She had just been toying with him, nothing more. Petty cruelty was a streak common in the Vraad race and more so in the temptress. That was all it was.
And you make yourself such an open target, he scolded himself.
The sky flashed, the green and crimson clouds swirling violently as if in response to the explosion. Dru turned at the sound of thunder, wondering it if was going to rain for once. There had not been any rain for over three years now. If not for the powers of the Vraad, Nimth would have perished from thirst.
A second flash lit the heavens in the direction of his own domain.
A massive peak, clearly seen and as solid as any, stood in the distance, its white tip and vegetation-enshrouded base taunting him. Dru gaped.
It was—it had to be—a piece of the shrouded realm thrusting through the veil into his own world!
“There you are!”
Dru whirled around, but saw nothing. He glanced up and discovered the source of the voice directly above him. A Tezerenee riding a dragon. From where he stood, Dru could not make out the features of the rider. It could have been one of the patriarch’s sons or a cousin. In fact, if he had not heard the voice, Dru would have been hard-pressed to identify the newcomer as male or female without augmenting his vision again.
The rider urged his mount lower. “The Lord Barakas Tezerenee has dispatched myself and several others to search for you! You were to be at his side by the time he began to speak before the crowds!”
“I found it necessary to be away. It seems my absence had little effect on his speech, anyway.” Dru desperately wanted to leave the city, to explore the rift. If there was truly a physical way through…
The Tezerenee seemed horribly ignorant of the vast sight in the distance. He only had eyes for the object of his mission, a protesting outsider. “The clan master sti
ll desires your presence! You will return with me!”
Dru felt all the anger and frustration of the past hour battle against his slipping self-control. He eyed the rider and the beast. “I am not one of your toy-soldier brethren, Tezerenee! I come when I wish to! Matters have come up that demand my return to my own domain! You can convey my regrets to Lord Barakas, but not me!”
“You—”
“That is all I have to say to you, Tezerenee!” Raw power crackled like an aura around the narrow spellcaster, a sign of the fury within him straining to be released.
The dragon protested the difficulty of continuing to hover, but the rider ignored him. Dru matched stares with the airborne Vraad. At last, the Tezerenee signaled for the dragon to rise again.
“The clan master will be furious!”
“You may relay to him my apologies and my wishes for the best in the hours to come! I will contact him when it proves possible!”
In the end, it was likely the authoritative tone that backed the dragon rider away. From his time in the company of the patriarch, Dru had picked up on the voice that Barakas utilized to exercise his control. Trained from birth to obey that voice, the rider could not, in the end, match wills with Zeree. With a final muttered response that the wind, which had picked up despite protective spells surrounding the city, carried away, the Tezerenee rode off.
Dru sighed and smiled. Sirvak hissed in satisfaction. It was always nice to gain a victory, however small. The rider would probably wait until his master was finished speaking, rather than disrupt the patriarch’s great moment. That gave Dru a little more time before Barakas began trying to contact him. Time enough, if he hurried, to see his daughter.
The claws of his familiar tightened on his shoulder. The creature had gone from pleased to dismayed in only seconds. Even before he turned, Dru suspected what he would see.
The peak was fading. Slowly, to be sure, but far too quickly for Dru’s needs.
It was with a mixture of relief and anxiety that he vanished from the city only a breath later.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. II Page 35
